Read Online The Zebra Wall by Kevin Henkes - Free Book Online Page A

for October in Mason, Wisconsin. Adine fidgeted in her seat, her bare legs sticking to the black vinyl. As much as she enjoyed viewing the houses and picturing herself living in them, Adine was ready to go home. The night was almost muggy, and Aunt Irene had been smoking the entire time, causing Adine’s head to pound. When they passed street lamps, the smoke could be seen hanging in the feeble light of the bus like fog.
    Deedee (thank goodness) was asleep on Aunt Irene’s lap. Effie was asleep, too, her chocolate-mustached face leaning on Adine’s slumped shoulder.
    It was odd to see Aunt Irene directly behind Adine’s father, in the seat where Mrs. Vorlob always sat. Mr. Vorlob still had his work clothes on. He was a pattern maker, and when he came home at four o’clock every day, you could tell he had worked hard—he looked as if he had been hosed down from top to bottom with sweat and dirt. Adine wasn’t exactly sure what a pattern maker did, but she knew it didn’t have anything to do with dress patterns. She used to think that when she was Dot’s age.
    They passed the Pixie Cleaners on East Street. A neon pixie fluttered above the building, flashing like a pulse. The pixie reminded Adine of the fairy on the F wall. Adine wished the fairy would come to life, wave her wand, and make Aunt Irene go back home to her own apartment (along with everything she had stuffed into Adine’s room). Better yet, make her disappear. Forever. Baby had been home for months, and except for not having a real name, he was perfectly fine—small, but fine. In Adine’s opinion, Aunt Irene wasn’t needed. She wasn’t needed at all. And it didn’t seem to Adine that Aunt Irene needed the Vorlobs (although that’s what Adine’s mother kept saying). If you really needed someone, you wouldn’t be cranky and bossy and demanding. You’d be grateful to the people who were supposedly helping you. Adine didn’t understand Aunt Irene, and she had a hard time liking things she didn’t understand. In that respect, Adine put math and Aunt Irene in the same category.
    As they sped down the street, Adine turned her head to catch a last glimpse of the pixie. When it was out of her vision, Adine closed her eyes and the pixie blinked in her mind.
    The faint odor of paint met them as they walked into the house. Baby, in his crib, had been wheeled into the living room. The windows were all open and the portable fan was turning its head, whirring, ventilating the air for Baby.
    Adine followed Mr. Vorlob upstairs and down the hall, the paint smell growing stronger. They entered the nursery. Mrs. Vorlob was facing the F wall, splashing white paint across it with a large brush. Everything was disappearing—the fairy, the falling star, the frogs, the farm. Without turning, Mrs. Vorlob continued—dipping her brush in the paint can, raising it with a slight flourish, and hiding the mural beneath a slick coat of white.

12

Stripes
    â€œHe’s going to be a Z !” Mrs. Vorlob said excitedly, laying her brush down on the lid of the paint can. “Baby’s name is going to begin with the letter Z !”
    Before anyone could ask a question, Mrs. Vorlob continued, her paint-flecked hands a frenzy of gestures. “It just hit me like a ton of cinder blocks. While you were all out looking at the fancy houses, Baby woke up. I lulled him back to sleep by reading to him—that old alphabet book we’ve had for years. Of course, I always substitute you girls’ names for A , B , C , D , and E . Well, I was going through, page after page, naming all the pictures like always, and when I got to Z , I thought, Wouldn’t it be perfect if Baby’s name began with a Z? Then there’d be Vorlobs from A to Z . Don’t you see? Everything would be complete. Absolutely perfect.”
    Mrs. Vorlob lit a cigarette and blew smoke out in rings that wavered and grew wider